


34 and Counting

by qblackheart



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:25:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2605142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qblackheart/pseuds/qblackheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A/N from 2012: I wanted to write something awesome to celebrate Jensen's birthday this year, but alas work got in the way. This is what I wrote for Jensen’s last birthday, because I LOVE him. I just added another 500-odd words to the original story, my little Ode to Jensen for this year. I would've posted it as a drabble but the style wouldn't have made sense without the preceding parts. I figure it's still Jensen's birthday in Vancouver; I'm just fashionably late to this party. The image within is not mine!</p><p>Thank you, Jensen, for being amazing and wonderful, snarky and sweet, dorky and delightful, brilliant, beautiful and badass. Thirty-fourth verse, same as the first :)</p><p>Happy Birthday, baby!</p><p>Enjoy! Comments = Love and birthday wishes for Jensen!</p>
            </blockquote>





	34 and Counting

 

**Happy Birthday, Jensen!**

♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥♥♥ ♥

 

 

 

When he was a day old, before his parents had even decided between 'Justin' and 'Jensen', according to Donna Ackles anyway, his big brother Josh took one look at him, frowned, and stated, “He’s ugly, Momma. Give him back to the stork and get another baby. Or at least get your money back.”

 

On his first birthday, Alan Ackles’ best friend’s wife said, “He’s such a beautiful child. You and Donna should think about getting him into modeling. It’s never too early to start saving for college, you know.”

 

The very next year, at the tender age of two, he had his first print shoot and right afterwards the photographer smiled at his mother and declared, “He’s just adorable! And such a good little boy – he could go real far in this business.”

 

At the impressionable age of four, a girl in his playgroup said he was cute and kissed him on the cheek. He grabbed her and planted one right back on her lips, in gratitude, of course. He was promptly suspended from preschool for his trouble and didn’t kiss another girl until the seventh grade. Even then, she broke up with him the very next day; he hadn’t even realized they'd been together to begin with.

 

When he turned thirteen, he didn’t want to model anymore. Women always looked at him like they wanted to cuddle him to death, but it scared him the way some men looked at him, their leering eyes never straying far from his mouth. He was relieved and grateful to get back to normal: good son, awesome brother (both little and big, now that Mackenzie was finally old enough to have fun with), straight A student.

 

Sweet sixteen and just after he'd gotten his first standing ovation on stage, he decided he wanted to be an actor like his daddy, but looks only lasted so long, smarts would last him a lifetime, so he finished high school before he packed his bags to seek fame and fortune in Hollywood. He figured college wasn’t going anywhere, and if things didn’t work out, he’d enrol in a year.

 

Things worked out. _Days of Our Lives_ came calling when he turned nineteen and, for three years, his momma, both his nanas, all his aunts, and every one of their female friends rejoiced as he became another in a long line of very pretty Bradys.

 

At twenty-two, he moved to Vancouver for the first time, for _Dark Angel_. It was just another city, Canada masquerading as America, but while it looked like it, it never felt like home. It was lonely, and he was miserable, but he managed, and when he couldn’t stand it anymore, he swallowed down his awkwardness, tried to overcome his shyness, and endeavoured to make a few new friends. It didn’t quite work out that way, and to this day, even years later, when he met one of those people again, their simpering glances and silver tongues always left him feeling uncomfortable in his own skin.

 

It was joining the cast of _Smallville_ at twenty-six that made him realize that he could be good friends with work colleagues. To Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, he was just one of the guys (even if they did call him a pretty, pretty princess), and they welcomed him with open arms and lots of booze, and yeah, maybe some weed, but never once, to this day, had he ever felt nervous or uneasy in their company, although some of Mike’s escapades made him fear for his dignity, his sanity, and his life on more than one occasion.

 

In 2005, he landed the role that would define him. It was natural, his slide into Dean Winchester’s skin, almost effortless, almost like he'd been born to play the badass, brash brother of _Supernatural’s_ ghost-busting, monster-hunting duo [ _“Badass, brash and_ beautiful _, Jen,” Jared never failed to add, cheeks dimpling and eyes glinting with mischief, “you bring the beautiful, like I bring da noise and da funk.” Fucking Jared, Jensen thought to himself, not even trying to suppress his laughter at his dorky co-star's antics, instead giving up, giving in, going ahead and forging this friendship with Jared_ ]. Still, if you asked him what the most memorable moment of his twenty-seventh year had been, out loud he would say it was becoming Dean, but inside he knew it was meeting Jared.

 

At Paley Fest the next summer, his gaze collided with Jared’s again and again as they bantered back and forth on stage, teasing and taunting each other and generally making jackasses of themselves while their producers and writers went on and on about their amazing, uncanny chemistry. [ _“Hey dude, for the record, just so you don’t go back to the hotel and cry into your pillow, I may be smokin’ hot but you’re not too bad yourself, shortstack,” Jared smirked, and topped it off with a wink, a nudge, and a lazy long arm thrown around his shoulders, more proprietary than friendly_ ]. For the first time in a long time, he felt comfortable just being Jensen Ackles. It took him another year, the year he turned twenty-nine, to realize that only ever happened when Jared stood by his side.

 

On his thirtieth birthday, he noticed the crinkles at the corners of his eyes had multiplied, while the grooves around his mouth had deepened; sure, you could only really tell when he smiled, big and wide and heartfelt, but he noticed those trifling imperfections all the same, and they niggled at him. Then again, what did it really matter? Most of the time, he only smiled that way at Jared, and Jared never seemed to care about stuff like that.

 

On his thirty-first birthday, Jared kissed him for the first time. They were drunk, and it was an accident, but about ten endless seconds later, they kissed again, and this time, it was totally, completely, irrevocably on purpose. When they woke up the next morning, hungover and tangled up in each other, the remnants of alcohol and sweat and come tainting their mingled breaths, Jensen shivered as Jared murmured, his voice gruff and sexy and right in his ear, “You’re so goddamned gorgeous, Jensen, inside and out; I never stood a chance.”

 

A year later, he finally let Jared break him all the way down [ _“Let this happen, Jensen, let us happen,” Jared begged, “please, just trust me…”_ ]. He let Jared tear him apart and put him back together again [ _“I love you, you moron! I’m_ in _love_ _with you!” Jared shouted, the veins in his neck popping and his jaw clenching with barely suppressed fury. “There is no one I would rather spend my life with, even if you are an ornery, uptight bastard!” It was probably the angriest declaration of love in the history of the world, or Jensen’s world anyway, and it blew him, and all his defenses, away_ ]. He was stronger, all the better for it, and so full of love and life and laughter that it left him breathless. [ _“You’re amazing, Jensen Ackles,” Jared said, after Jensen gave up and gave in, just so fuckin’ gone for Jared’s love, “you’re so goddamn sweet and the best person I know. I love you,” he vowed, “I always will.”_ ]. It left him yearning for a lifetime of this, just this, just with Jared, for another thirty-two, forty-two, fifty-two years. But even an eternity would never be enough, Jensen realized as Jared crowded into his space, his tone pleading, “All I want to do is shout it from the rooftops, Jen, but I’ll hold my tongue for as long as you want me to. Just please don’t let this be the end of us.”

 

In May, right smack between both their birthdays, in the thirty-third year of living this life he had been blessed with, in front of their family and all their friends, he and Jared promised to love one another forever and ever, amen. _[“Dude, you’re totally the blushing bride,” Jared whispered playfully in his ear, “should've put you in a white dress,” he laughed, kissing Jensen's cheek, his lips pink and petal-soft, his hazel-green-blue-gray eyes shining with tears and love. Jensen rolled his eyes; yeah, girly tears, and_ Jensen’s _the bride?_ ]. The future ahead of them beckoned; _their_ future, so it was sure to be sun-bright, full of promise, and better than anything he could ever imagine, so long as he got to spend all of it with Jared. [ _“You take my breath away...” Jared breathed the words into his skin, pressing soft kisses all along his spine and tonguing the freckles dusted across his shoulders as he fucked him slow and deep and hard, as fireworks exploded behind Jensen’s eyelids, as they climaxed in tandem, mindless and helpless with love and lust, marked and bruised with teeth and hands and come; a love so true and desperate and enduring; a love like nothing he had ever felt before. But Jared was the beautiful one, Jensen thought, the brilliant one, the one that he loved more than life itself, and Jensen would spend the rest of his days showing him that_ ]. The next morning, just after kissing Jared awake, Jensen smiled and blushed and said, “Every year since I met you, I keep thinking, it can’t possibly get any better than this and every year, you prove me wrong. So far, Jay, this has been the best year of my life.”

 

The break of dawn on the very first day of the thirty-fourth year of Jensen’s life was heralded with a kiss. He sighed into Jared’s lush, wide mouth before cracking an eye open and noting that it was still mostly dark out, and the smile on his lips turned into a scowl. [ _“S’too early,” he complained, only to be silenced with Jared’s sweet kisses and his sleep-sour tongue. “Big, stupid jerk, m’tryin’ to sleep here. Think you can get away with all sorts of shit just by flashing those damn dimples at me. Well, you got another think comin’, jackass,” he muttered, only to be roundly ignored as Jared got busy doing other, more important things (in Jared’s estimation; in Jensen’s estimation? Sleep was important, too; he was no spring chicken anymore), like pressing Jensen deep into the mattress and fucking him senseless as Jensen gasped and swore and came and thought, damn, this is going to be a real good year._ ] He had to work on his birthday, of course he did (what else was new?) but Jared was there, the crew was there, the guest cast was there (missing Mish and The Beav, though) and, best of all, craft services was there with an awesome cake. Jensen grinned and trended on Twitter (whatever the fuck that meant) and blew out all his candles (without setting off the smoke alarm) and got fed a piece of the white-chocolate-caramel-coconut-toffee-pecan-mousse monstrosity that Jared had undoubtedly picked out for his trouble. [ _“Mmm…” he hummed later, in their trailer, when Jared gorged on cake, moaning like a porn star and licking cream off his fingers and lips in sweet invitation until Jensen was powerless to resist and leaned in to help, his tongue sweeping into Jared’s mouth, soft and slow to savour the sweet temptation within. “Tastes better on your tongue,” Jensen whispered, sighing in contentment when Jared smirked, looking equally smug and adorable. “Everything’s better with you,” Jensen couldn’t help saying, like a secret, except between them and anyone who happened to know them, from their families to their friends to their fans._ ] Later that night, as he brushed his teeth and Jared locked up downstairs, he stared into the mirror, trying to see what the past year had done to his face, to his body. He peeled off his t-shirt and took a good, long look at himself and, finally satisfied, nodded at his reflection. Not too shabby for an almost-old dude, he thought, turning this way and that before he noticed his husband leaning against the doorway, watching him in quiet contemplation. He felt like an idiot, his skin flushing in embarrassment (you’d think he’d've outgrown blushing like a friggin' schoolgirl by now) as Jared moved towards him, his heated gaze trapping Jensen’s in the mirror as he sidled up behind him, wrapping those mile-long arms around him, warming him with his gorgeous, ginormous body as he kissed his shoulder, mouthing at the freckles there, and nosed at his neck, licking and biting and leaving his mark, branding Jensen, for tonight and for the rest of his life, and leaning in close so his soft lips brushed tantalizingly against the shell of Jensen’s ear as he spoke, his voice deep and sincere and honey-sweet as he made Jensen shiver: “Still so beautiful. Just like the first time I saw you. Better than. Still sexy. Still smokin’ hot. Happy Birthday, baby. I love you. Feels like I always have. Know I always will.”

 

♥♥♥

  



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